


Colter

by WeNeedARuse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Against a Wall, Coming In Pants, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Rutting, in the cold, kind of frottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: “You think I have to take my clothes off to have fun.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t want an answer.But he likes Arthur to push his buttons.“I think it’s more fun if you do.”Arthur. Dutch. Snow.





	Colter

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. I just had this idea and since I'm STILL off work, I had to write it down. 
> 
> This is still Arthur and Dutch from When It's Like This :)
> 
> Inspired by a certain scene.
> 
> Um, I don't really have much I can say about this, I'm playing around with ideas and just hoping you guys are still into it!
> 
> Comments are everything to me, to let me know I'm still doing well, to let me know if these guys are still right for you. Seriously though, at the risk of sounding like a begging comment whore, they are what keeps me going, even if it's just a smiley face. I live for them :)
> 
> Also the kudos. Who doesn’t love them? 😬
> 
> There’s probably a lot of mistakes for which I’m sorry. Hopefully they won’t detract too much!
> 
> So, yes, please, enjoy!

He can’t sleep. And even though it’s cold as hell outside, it’s preferable to being in that little cabin, just feet away from Dutch’s room. So, he comes outside, leans back against the cabin wall and lights up a cigarette.

It’s peaceful here. Awful and cold and wild. But peaceful.

Arthur needs peace.

After the stable. After the O’Driscolls. After beating a man to death on the floor.

He curls his hand into a fist, lets himself feel the burn of the cuts as they stretch and open again. Lets himself revel in the pain of the bruises.

Drops to one knee and presses his hand into the snow.

Cooling. Burning. 

He hisses but doesn’t pull his hand away, feels his fingers start to go numb.

Numb is what he wants right now.

And so intent he is on that numbness, so silent is the snow that he doesn’t hear him. For the first time in a long time, Dutch is able to sneak up on him.

“Whiskey on the cuts would work better.” 

He doesn’t jump, although his heart threatens to thud out of his chest. Calm in the face of surprises.

Dutch taught him that.

He stands slowly and shakes his head, absently shoving his hands into his coat pockets. As if he can hide.

“I ain’t wasting good whiskey Dutch.” 

“Well, that’s fine. We don’t have any good whiskey.” He looks to him. To Dutch. Takes in the thick woolen coat, the hat pulled down, the scarf pulled up, so that he can see only slivers of his face in the moonlight. Sections of expression. Not all, not everything. 

But something...

“You okay.” He asks it but doesn’t expect an answer. 

Doesn’t get one either.

Dutch moves closer, reaching out to tug at Arthurs wrist and pull his hand from his pocket, wraps it in his gloved hands and squeezes. Hard. 

Arthur winces but says nothing.

“Killers hands.” Dutch is pressing closer, backing him up against the wall and Arthur is powerless to stop him. 

No, not powerless.

Doesn’t want to stop him.

Because numbness is good. But feeling alive is better.

“My killer. My boy.” And he’s suddenly there, suddenly full visible as the moon pushes through the clouds. And Arthur is awed by the sight. The intensity of his gaze, the wickedness of his grip, the almost cruel half smile.

And he remembers.

The stable, the man on the floor, and the scent of cigar smoke.

Dutch watching him, watching as he beats on the O’Driscoll. Watching as he bows over him and uses his fists instead of his brain.

And he knows, he knows that Dutch likes that.

He shakes his head.

Dutch likes that.

And Arthur likes that he does.

“It’s a little cold to be doing what you have in mind, Dutch.” He murmurs as Dutch moves closer, presses his lips to his cheek and kisses. 

Pushed up tight together now, in the shadow of the cabin.

Inseparable.

“Oh, and what do you think I have in mind?” Dutch’s voice is steady and calm. An anchor. His lips trailing down Arthurs jawline to the collar of his coat.

His hands on Arthurs shoulders.

Holding him back.

And despite the cold, despite the death and the run and everything that’s happened, Arthur feels himself start to harden at the assault.

“You always want to fuck me after.” 

Dutch laughs in his ear.

His hands unbuckle Arthur's coat, slipping inside and the cold rushes in.

He doesn’t answer him of course. He doesn’t like to be predictable. 

Arthur spreads his legs without thinking, widens his stance and lets Dutch press between. Like he belongs there. 

But he does.

Pulls his head back so he can see him.

Smiles.

Dutch opens his own coat one handed, presses his lips to Arthurs in an almost chaste kiss before gripping his hand and guiding it to him.

“Dutch…” He murmurs against his lips, curls his fingers around the outline of his hardened cock.

So fucking hard.

All for him.

For the killer in him.

He takes a breath. Dutch’s free hand is pressing against his mouth, fingers pushing between his lips, his teeth.

Arthur bites down.

Pulls away, just enough to speak.

“As much as I want to,” Dutch stills,

And it’s dangerous.

Arthur feels his cock twitch at that and wonders how he got so messed up.

How they got so messed up.

“As much as I do. It’s below freezing out here and if you whip that out, it’s going to snap off.” Dutch looks down, between them, at where Arthur is still palming his cock over his pants.

Pulls a wicked grin out of nowhere and shoves Arthur back hard. 

“You think I have to take my clothes off to have fun.” It’s not a question. He doesn’t want an answer.

But he likes Arthur to push his buttons.

“I think it’s more fun if you do.” 

Hands suddenly grip to his hips and Arthur is pulled full flush against that hard, unyielding body, hand trapped between them so he can feel himself and Dutch at the same time.

No longer numb. Oh god, no longer numb.

“And I think,” 

A growl.

Deep, reverberating.

“You’ve forgotten everything I taught you.”

And then

He’s pushed up against him, confining Arthur between the wall and his body, pulling his hand from between them so he can thrust, rock his hips up hard.

Again, and again, and again.

Hands gripping Arthurs ass, holding him in place to fuck against. Not letting him move, not letting him rut.

Constricted.

Arthur grips onto his coat, the only thing he can hold onto as Dutch grabs his thigh, pulls it up so it’s hooked over his hip. His face close to his, lips over his, the cold no longer felt.

Warm now.

Hot.

Needy.

And he’s thrusting harder now, rolling his hips like he does when he fucks him. The friction of his jeans creating a pleasure too odd, too strange, too lovely to put into words. 

Arthur stifles his groans in the collar of Dutch’s coat.

And Dutch.

Oh.

His control is slipping.

Just a little. Unnoticable unless you know him.

Know him as well as Arthur.

But it’s there.

In the gritted teeth.

In the slight tremble of his hands.

In the short, shocked gasp.

In the babble of words.

“When we get off this goddamn mountain and somewhere warm..”

Oh,

In that voice.

Rarely heard. 

Hoarse and rough and whispered.

“I’m going to take you to a hotel room and fuck you over every surface.” 

Arthur thinks his legs might go from under him.

Keep talking.

Please.

“I’m going to have you on the floor, bent over with your hands behind your back.”

“Yes.” He grits out the word, grinds it out as Dutch rocks against him faster now. 

“Up against the window so some passing widow on her way to church can see you with my hand on your cock and my fingers in your ass.” 

Arthur can feel blood on his lip where he’s bitten through it.

“On the bed, tied to the corners…”

His thrusts are getting erratic.

Losing control because of what he saw him do.

Lips pressing hard against his as if he can stop his flow of words. Kissing deep and hard, teeth and blood and saliva mixed.

“On your knees, mouth on my cock...that’s my favorite...my…”

A low groan and suddenly Dutch presses his face into Arthurs neck, thrusts hard, gripping onto him so tight he knows he’s going to have new bruises.

Different ones.

Better ones.

Wraps his arms around Dutch's shoulders. Wraps his body around him. 

Holds him because he can, because Dutch is lost to it for that moment, that split second of pleasure, and he won’t push him away, won’t stop him.

It’s rare that he’s like this. It’ll never be spoken of. Never mentioned. The words whispered into the crook of his neck in a moment of abandon.

But it happens. It’s happened.

And Arthur remembers.

And

Oh and then

Dutch pulls back just a little, eyes careful, expression locked down.

And thrusts again.

Arthur can feel his own eyes widen. Close to coming but not close enough, and he expected, no, he knew, Dutch was going to leave him there. Leave him hard and aching and wanting until they had some time. Until they got that hotel room. Until…

But

He’s thrusting against him again and the overstimulation must be torture for him.

But it doesn’t show.

He’s back to control.

And Arthur’s lost.

Because this,

Dutch’s unflinching eyes and too tight grip

The too much and too little friction

This makes him come.

Makes him push forwards and try to kiss him, makes him want to come with those lips on his, that cruel tongue in his mouth.

Instead he gets a hand around his throat.

And he comes in his jeans, sticky and wet and gasping.

“My killer.” Dutch lets go of him, steps back as Arthur rocks back against the wall, dazed but still standing. 

“Ain’t…” He manages to get out but Dutch is walking away, back around the front of the cabin, back to his room.

The cold wraps around him almost instantly. He shivers against it, pulls his coat tighter, and follows Dutch’s footsteps back inside.


End file.
